Title: IndulgenceAuthor: fengirl88Fandom: X-Men: First ClassPairing: Erik/CharlesRating: 15Warnings: noneWordcount: 904Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.Summary: Erik tells himself he shouldn't give in to this sort of thing, that it's dangerous to relax when you're in the middle of a war. But despite his best intentions, it's become a habit.A/N: Fill for the "cuddling" square on my love_bingo card; slightly different version originally posted in response to this anonymous prompt at xmen_firstkink.This one is for thimpressionist, with affection and gratitude.

Erik had no idea being in bed with Charles Xavier would be like this.

Not that it would have made any difference: after weeks of cold showers and uncomfortable nights trying to keep his thoughts to himself in shared motel rooms, he wasn't going to say no when Charles finally made a move. He'd been on the point of giving in and making one himself, and it had taken every shred of pride and self-discipline he possessed to keep his hands off Charles.

Evidently he hadn't been shielding his thoughts quite as well as he'd hoped: Charles was very sure of his welcome. But by then Erik was too desperate with relief and lust to mind. Charles could be as smug as he liked, with his lips wrapped around Erik's cock, his hands bruisingly hard on Erik's hips, holding him on the edge till he couldn't bear it any longer. Charles might look mild-mannered and harmless if you didn't know any better, but in bed he was ruthless and impossible and exactly what Erik needed to drive him crazy, shatter him to pieces and put him back together again. The intensity of being with someone who could read him so easily, see all his desires and his fantasies, was overwhelming.

The really surprising thing hadn't been the sex, though, but what came afterwards.

“You can't possibly –” Erik said, thinking what is this, a secondary mutation? He was still gasping for breath, heart pounding, and here was Charles starting all over again, kissing and nuzzling Erik's neck and shoulder and chest – he's 30 and it's instantaneous, even when I was 15 I didn't –

He felt Charles's laughter against his skin.

“What?” Erik said suspiciously.

“I'm not,” Charles said, “it's very flattering that you think I could, but really, Erik –”

Erik just stopped himself saying Then what are you doing?

“I just like being close,” Charles said. “Afterwards. If that's OK with you,” he added, beaming ecstatically and clearly not expecting an argument.

Erik didn't argue, but he didn't know what he was supposed to do. There hadn't really been the opportunities for this sort of thing in his sex life up until now – most of his sexual encounters had been in places where the last thing you were going to do was hang around to be caught. Alleyways, the back rooms of bars, a service elevator, the lavatory on a train... not exactly suitable locations for cuddling, even if there'd been time. Or inclination, come to that. The only times he'd shared a bed after sex, he'd muttered awkwardly “Thanks” and “goodnight” and lain awake tense with embarrassment till he was sure his bedfellow was asleep.

So he wasn't prepared for this at all; but there's something about Charles Xavier that wears down his resistance and makes Erik do things he never thought he'd do. Because Charles is irresistible like this, all lit up with the sheer joy of being with Erik. No-one in Erik's adult life ever looked at him like that before, or responded so extravagantly to his touch.

The first time he'd tentatively petted Charles's hair after sex, Charles sighed blissfully and snuggled closer and said “Oh,” and “Erik, again.”

And Erik, somewhat against his better judgement, had done it again. And again.

He tells himself he shouldn't give in to this sort of thing, that it's dangerous to relax when you're in the middle of a war. But despite his best intentions, it's become a habit.

Erik could almost drift off right now, just lying here with Charles sprawled affectionately across him, Charles rubbing his face against Erik's chest, soft kisses interspersed with deep satisfied inhalations, as if Erik smells so good he can't get enough of him. Charles mumbles ridiculous endearments against Erik's neck and shoulder: honeybunch, pumpkin, cupcake – he's as oral in this as he is in so much else.

Erik thinks gloomily that he'll never hear the end of it from the young ones if they find out what Charles calls him in bed.

Listening in again. “I'm not sure sugardrawers is even a word,” Erik grumbles.

Charles laughs and burrows closer. He nuzzles Erik's earlobe, noses at his jawline, rubs his lips against Erik's stubble with a little hum of satisfaction. Erik runs his fingers through Charles's hair, scratching his scalp lightly as Charles murmurs with pleasure, lying warm and heavy and drowsy against him.

Erik knows he ought to get up and go to his own room, get a proper night's sleep and clear his mind. But his limbs are growing heavy, too, and the impulse to spoil Charles for just a little longer is too strong to resist. He tells himself he'll train even harder tomorrow to make up for the indulgence.

He kisses the top of Charles's head and strokes his back, holds him close and murmurs endearments of his own. He's probably kidding himself if he thinks Charles doesn't understand them just because they're in German.

“...'nother name for you,” Charles mumbles drowsily against Erik's neck.

Whatever it is, it surely can't be worse than sugardrawers.

“Shagneto,” Charles says, with a sleepy chuckle.

“You dare,” Erik says, “and I'll –”

But before he can finish his threat, whatever it was going to be, there's a snuffle and a change in Charles's breathing that tells him it's too late; Charles is already asleep.